Lovely Things
by ElectraSev5n
Summary: Desperation is the only reason that Neria Surana was called to Harrowing. A careless word is the reason she didn't come back alone. Pre-narrative divergence point: When Duncan comes, his ideal recruit is gone to war with the extra troops demanded by the Teryn. The mage he gets instead may be a hero, a monster, or some terrible middle ground
1. Original Sin

"I could," Neria muttered. She let the healing energies fizzle out on her fingers, shaking the green sparks away in irritation.

Anders didn't stop laughing. Actually, he wheezed a little bit.

She puffed up, annoyed. He was the only one who laughed at her. She didn't like it. "It's _not_ funny. An-"

"Quiet, mages!"

Neria went still, shoulders stiff. She swallowed.

Clank. Clank. The scuff of metal silenced when the templar stepped into the carpeted section of the library, blocking off the light from the windows at the back. A metal visor hid his face, but the body language was enough of a hint that the templar was not tickled with good humor.

Anders kicked her under the table, squirming his toes up into her sock. It might have been a show of support, or it might have been a poorly timed come-on. It was hard to tell with Anders. Either way, she roused up the gall to softly kick him back.

He made an odd sound, like he was clearing his throat. "Right. Quiet. Of course." The easy grin Anders shot up at the templar had just a bit too much teeth. "We'll be quiet as spiders in a cellar."

The templar scoffed. The sound echoed around his helmet and empty head. "Loghain could have had the decency to take the annoying ones with him. Waste of a prime opportunity to clean up the tower."

Neria found Anders' foot again and pressed against it in warning. She could see the color rising in his face. He was going to say something smart and wind up in the caves below the tower with the spiders and mold. His foot was twitching.

 _'Don't do it, Anders. He's looking for an excuse. If you get locked up, I'll have to study alone, and the class might catch up to me.'_

By some miracle, Anders subsided. His posture relaxed. "You're right," he agreed, almost cheerfully. "I get tired of smelly rubbish clanking around the corridors. If the king's men come back, let's hope they bring enough soap for all the hairy old bigots."

 _'Goddamnit, Anders.'_

The smite knocked them both off balance. Anders jerked into the table and wheezed when his ribs met wood, but Neria's chair teetered sideways on two legs. Her world was spinning and there was no air in her lungs and it was so cold, so cold in the tower. She yelped and put her arms up- and the templar wrapped his metal gauntlet around her forearm. The chair slipped out from under her body, but she didn't fall. She scrambled to find her balance, placing her feet firmly between the piles of books and odds and ends that had blown off the table. Acid crawled up her throat, sour and bloody. She didn't know if that was a reaction to the smite or to being touched by one of those things, it was touching her-

"Oh my," the templar said flatly, staring Anders down. The joints of his gloves were pinching her skin. "How clumsy of me." He let her go, almost throwing her arm away. Like she was dirty or-

Neria breathed in slowly through her nose and righted the chair. It smelled like something was burning. She didn't watch the templar continue walking away on his rounds. It was fine. She picked up her books and kicked away a broken ink bottle, pretending not to see the green bleeding out onto the dark carpet.

There was a heavy sigh. When she looked up, Anders was rubbing at his temples and scowling. When he felt her stare, he looked up with a fake and thin smile. "Ahem." He tapped his chest. "You were saying, darling Surana?"

She looked over at the empty doorway again, just to be sure. Neria kept her voice low and confidential. "If I demonstrate interest and have a good proposal, they'll let me out. Just like-"

"Ines the Botanist," Anders cut her off. He snorted again, bitterness clawing at his fair features. "Yes, if you want to spend your life searching for the Southern Prickleplant, you too could earn a small amount of freedom, doled out by the teaspoon by our Chantry masters." When her tutor reached out to muss her hair, Kenna didn't manage to duck away in time. "Aim a little higher, duckling."

 _'It's not like I would actually go look for the Northern Prickleplant.'_

The replacement templar clanged into place, positioned so that he could see down two stacks at once. Ponderously, the templar placed their feet wide and rested a hand on the handle part of the murderously oversized templar sword.

She messily gathered her books and dignity. "I need to go." Neria slipped her quill into her waistband, ignoring the ink spotting from the tip.

"Why?" Anders tipped his chair back, displaying a shocking disregard for the sanctity of the library. The tortured squeal of the chair drew a stern look from the new templar across the stacks, but he didn't come to investigate. "You should have plenty of freetime, now that that old people are off to play at war instead of hounding apprentices in class."

There was no denying that. Almost all classes had been canceled since the king's men had come to demand mages for the army. The newly harrowed mages were almost all off to Ostagar, under the supervision of Senior Enchanter Uldred and a bevy of Enchanters. They could probably still hear the roaring of angry Templars and Chantry sisters and the infernal complaining that the king had originally been much more reasonable about how many of their mages he wanted.

"Just think, you'd have gone with if anyone trusted you at all," Neria shot back, irritated because that had all been his fault and if he could keep his bloody temper in check, she wouldn't be losing feeling in her fingers. "You could be halfway to the border by now."

Anders mimed an arrow to the heart, grin turning sour. "Nonsense. They trust me here with a circle full of impressionable young apprentices and the bare minimum of idiot templars. That's the kind of trust that should be rewarded, don't you think?" He tilted his head, and he looked like his cat- all tawny mischief.

When he turned to look out the window, Neria couldn't help but turn with him, caught on his tide.

The lake was billowing under a cold autumn wind, hundreds of red leaves bobbing ambitiously on the swells. Beyond the dark lines of the village, the sun was just beginning to touch the horizon.

 _'Take me with you.'_

She kept the words behind her teeth.

Her phylactory was still in the tower, after all. She wouldn't get very far before the templars tracked her down and knocked the heat out of her lungs again. She wasn't ready yet. When she did run, she wanted to be skilled enough to make a clean break.

Even Anders had never gotten very far on his own, and he'd been so exceptional that he'd been harrowed when he was about her age. He needed the handicap of an average mageling about as much as she needed the scrutiny and suspicion that a failed escape attempt would bring. A mage that the templars thought was a flight risk was a lot more likely to turn out to be an excellent candidate for joining the Tranquil ranks. The only way to really be free was to kill the templars on your trail and destroy your phylactery. It'd be hard to do that alone and without preparation.

The moment passed. She was herself again.

"Thank you," she said honestly. "I don't want to be behind when Wynne gets back."

She didn't give a damn about Wynne right now. She and Anders both knew perfectly well that Neria's current spellwork was level with what Wynne expected in classes. But the drive to outperform her classmates was a hard habit to break, and a good distraction from the upheaval in the tower.

Anders waived her gratitude away with his usual nonchalant disregard. "Don't speak of it. You're notably less terrible than you were only a year ago."

She stuck her tongue out at him before she left. Silence rang in her ears outside the isolated classroom area Anders had commandeered for tutoring sessions. The corridors weren't nearly as crowded as they used to be. When she passed a sallow, anxious apprentice loitering outside the chapel, he looked away from her eyes.

It took a moment to place the face. The reason she never talked to him was the same reason it was odd to see him around- he was one of the oldest apprentices. When the crown had demanded more mages for the army, the templars had started to take an apprentice to Harrowing almost every night. Most of them had joined the senior enchanters at Ostagar, still fidgeting from their ordeal.

 _'Maybe he's praying to pass his Harrowing,'_ Neria thought scathingly. _'He's almost one and twenty years. He must be a terrible mage if they haven't taken him yet. He'd be better off practicing than begging for the miracle he needs. He used to run around with the First Enchanter's pet pupil, didn't he?'_

Precious, perfect Amell had been the very first apprentice roused out of bed to be prematurely tested. She'd passed in record time. Of course she had. She was a pretty prodigy who had awed her teachers by demonstrating mastery of opposite elements, which was just showing off. Amell had been gone the following morning with the first group to Ostagar, ready to earn glory with her textbook perfect chain lightning and ground shaking earth spells and those damned group healing sessions that Neria was years away from mastering. Amell probably hadn't even seen most of her friends before she left to war in Enchanter's robes so new they squeaked (and of course she got brand new robes, she was so damned tall that none of the discarded ones would fit her and ugghh).

Oh well. Not her problem.

 _'It might be my problem soon enough.'_

Her gut churned. She tossed her books onto her bed and climbed up after them, eager for the safety of drawn curtains. When she pulled them shut, she could breathe a little easier in the darkness.

 _'All the older apprentices are gone, except for the real losers. Does Loghain's army have enough? Or will they move on to my age group?'_

Ridiculous. No one wanted 16 year old mages on the front lines.

Granted, it wasn't strange for bowmen of that age to go to battle. It wasn't her age that was the problem, precisely. No one trusted mages in general. Unharrowed mages? No one would be so mad as to rely on one. And the templars were usually sane enough not to Harrow unprepared candidates. The system kept casualties to a minimum and the young, volatile mages safely locked away from normal people and any way they might live normal, happy lives.

Seventeen of the mages who had been taken to the Harrowing in the past months, since they'd moved to taking younger apprentices, hadn't come out. That was almost a third of the apprentices who had been taken. Surely the rate of successes was usually better than that?

She didn't remember going to sleep. When she woke up the next day early enough to make it to all her canceled classes, the 17 year old entropy apprentice two rows down was moving his personal belongings upstairs while a templar stood sentinel. That left another empty row of beds- Eadric had passed his harrowing and moved upstairs a week prior.

The day after that, she was up early enough to see another empty bed. Prim, who always fell asleep in astronomy (and had never forgiven Neria for accidentally setting her hair on fire _just one time)_ was missing. No, wait. She was being carried out the door to the courtyard.

At least, that was probably who was wrapped up in a rug and dripping on the stone.

 _'She failed her Harrowing. Why? Prim wouldn't bother with a demon. Isn't that what they test us for? If we seek out demons?'_

Neria raised her head and tried to make eye contact with the templar as he shouldered the door open. Something burned in her gut, low and angry.

The templar didn't seem to notice her. The door swung shut behind him with a final thud.

Of course it did. Templars were free to go outside. They could just quit their jobs and leave the tower. The only way mages left it for good was in pieces, in the small hours of the morning.

Muffled clanking crossed into her hearing at the other end of the hall, and then stopped. Neria wrapped her arms around her torso and determinedly turned towards the library. She had studying to do.

The templar in the doorway might have been eyeing her from under his visor. He was tall, even for a templar, with wooden posture and one leg slightly turned to the side.

She pretended not to see him or the tinder in his hands. Tinder. Because of course _they_ burnt the bodies of mages. There wasn't enough earth in the lake to bury all the mages who lived and died their whole pathetic lives in the tower. If they didn't burn the bodies, the stink would be as bad as the piles of bones.

But.

Tinder, like Prim was a fireplace and not a rude, grumpy teenaged girl. She didn't even care about being a mage or casting spells, she just wanted to lay in bed at all hours and read. Where was the harm in that? What would Prim have cared about making deals with demons? Did she sell her soul to get out of classes? Ridiculous.

Tinder.

 _'I hope that he's the one chasing Anders next time and gets electrocuted.'_

"Apprentice Surana."

He didn't make to move from the doorway.

Hearing her name on a templar's lips lifted the hair on the back of her neck. Neria bristled, steeling her shoulder. She could have turned and slipped through the space between his armor and the frame without touching him. Instead, she purposefully jarred the bastard, putting her shoulder into his arm. The sound of jostled metal squealing against his chest armor wasn't as satisfying as she had hoped it would be.

He'd let her do that.

"Sorry, ser," Neria said tonelessly. Her arm ached. She didn't turn.

There was a cough. "It's Cullen."

' _I don't care what your name is. I don't want to know.'_

Neria kept walking. She was rounding the curve of the hall before Ser Cullen's armor started clanking again.

Other apprentices were talking when she came in. Their voices hushed at the sound of the door. Gradually, they worked their way up in volume again. It was loud enough in the quiet, emptying tower that Neria couldn't help but pick out bits and pieces.

"-ust watch, they'll all be sent home when the king returns from the capital." Her peers seemed to think they were conversing in private tones, pitch dropped ominously. But if Neria could hear them, so could at least one templar. "Yes, Loghain prefers Fereldan mages to _normal_ foreigners. But he's only in charge for a time, isn't he?"

Neria pointedly stacked her books at the end of the row so they could see someone was actually working in the library. They quietened for a moment. She relaxed and flipped through her notes on ice work. She almost had it- she knew she did. The theory all made sense, but it seemed to get stuck in her fingertips and sputter at the last second. Neria shook out her wrists and nodded at the templar watching her practice. He didn't say anything, so she inhaled deeply and turned a black stare at the target.

She could do this. She breathed, and ice caught in her lungs. Frost sparked over her chest, sizzling and glistening where her body heat melted it. She fought it, pitching her will against her body. Her body didn't make the decisions. She would be where her mind put her.

 _'Halfway there. Don't lose it.'_

"But Senior Enchanter Uldred said-" someone whined in the distance.

The ice melted. Her jaw clenched. She kept her glare on the target.

 _'Idiots.'_

Neria tried again. Ice was important. No elemental spell branch worked as fast as ice- ice mastery made an excellent combat mage. The precious seconds it took to call up fire or move earth were a death sentence. Her fingers turned blue with cold and deadened. The magic was so close to spinning out and crystalizing, manifesting off of her body ever larger-

"Of course the king's an Andrastian," a man scoffed loudly. "Right _whipped_ by the Chantry-"

Her ice dropped to the carpet in an angry, useless lump. The thud rattled around the room and the light overhead shook ominously. Neria took a conscientious step to the side, dark eyes warily judging the angle of the old iron candelabras overhead.

' _That was better. Now I just need something that could kill a man or three in full armor before he gets off a smite.'_

She was still in the library when angry shouts announced that Anders had escaped once more. Neria tucked hair behind her ear and hid a grim smile behind her numb hand.

Good. She hoped he made it to the border and got lost in the confusion.

There was less than an hour of peace in the tower until chaos broke out again. The only warning was a rising sense of pressure. Then her ears screamed, one popping painfully.

No? That was actual screaming. And a horrid clash of metal against stone. Neria stood so fast that her head spun, heart thudding against her chest. The templar standing watch in the library was already moving, taking great strides to the door. He reached the doorway-

and flew backwards, crashing into a stack. It collapsed in on him. Paper flew. Neria screamed, throwing an arm up to protect her face. It caught the sharp corner of a book. Footsteps were flapping down the hallway and wood splintered, but she wasn't thick enough to poke her head out.

A metal gauntlet was still poking out of the fallen stack, but nothing else was visible. In the distance, wood splintered.

Somewhere deeper in the stacks, she could hear cursing and steps running away from the commotion. They were headed towards the stairs, where the senior enchanters would be working. It was a good idea.

 _'He's probably fine. Armor protects from things like that, right? Anyway, what do I care if a templar dies?'_

She didn't care at all. The world would shine a little brighter with one more dead templar in it. So she wasn't sure why she stumbled across the wreckage and began pulling books up. It hurt a little to mistreat them but the templar wasn't moving, so she began flinging them back instead of stacking them. She dug out an arm. It was still. Then she stopped, because metal fingers were tightening on her shoulder.

She hadn't even heard him come up behind her.

Neria's breath caught. She flinched.

The templar let go as if burnt.

"Apprentice Surana? I heard- Go to your quarters, now."

The templar sounded younger and more familiar than such a hulking metal beast had any right to, but she still knew better than to argue. She left Ser Cullen to dig out his comrade.

Neria didn't find out what had happened until the apprentices had all been herded into the chapel to wait and pray away whatever sinfulness the chantry thought they were harboring along with sole responsibility for the imperfection of the world.

"Jowan? A blood mage?" She curled her feet in her flexible slippers and pressed the tops of her toes against the cold floor. She hated being in the chapel. It made her think of her mother.

Kallis looked offended at her skepticism. "I swear it's true." Kallis would say that, though. She was so eager to impress anyone who she thought was remotely interesting.

Neria made a face, drawing back a little. "It's just hard to picture. He was always..." Neria drew the word out, searching for the right phrase. She hadn't even remembered his name until Kallis had said it, for pity's sake.

Her fellow apprentice sniggered. "Don't say he was so nice you can't picture it."

"No," Neria agreed shamelessly. Jowan hadn't been rude, but he hadn't been especially kind, either. Mostly, he had been twitchy and strange. "More that he was such a loser. It's hard to picture him casting scary forbidden magic when he couldn't do his homework."

A chantry initiate gave them a black look, apparently angered by their whispers in the chapel. "Please keep your voices down." Her eyes were huge and angry in her face, sunken by whatever stressed chantry workers. Probably the mages, actually.

Neria blinked at the older woman, not letting any emotion in particular onto her expression. After a long moment, the initiate swept away, chin held tremblingly high.

After that night, Ser Cullen was everywhere. Maybe he'd already been around and she just hadn't noticed- it wasn't as though Neria made a habit of recognizing the templars. One tin can was as good as any other.

But it wasn't just any tin can who stood silently in the first section of the library, replacing the other templar. His stare was so heavy on her back that Neria packed up hours earlier than she would have preferred. Then Ser Cullen was in the back of the alteration class, disrupting her focus in one of the few subjects that hadn't been canceled for lack of teachers. When she saw him at lunch, she almost didn't recognize him: his helm was off. She wouldn't have known it was the same man, if it weren't for the fact that he kept staring and it sent familiar prickles up her spine.

 _'He's tan. He looks like he goes outside often.'_

Longing welled up so fast that it almost hurt.

"That one?" Kallis leaned across the table to see what Neria was glaring at. "Oh, I see. He keeps looking over here, you know. Maybe he likes you."

Ser Cullen glanced at her again and tipped soup onto his front. He didn't seem to notice.

Neria pointedly gave all of her attention to her meal. "Oh look, fish." She speared some on the tip of her fork. "A treat."

Kallis snorted and buried her own trout under a pile of unwanted beans. They lived on a lake. There was fish at every meal. "Lucky you. Maybe your pet templar would take you out for something else if you asked reaaaal pretty."

"Don't be foul." Neria launched a hunk of flesh into Kallis' mug, ignoring the indignant squawk she earned.

 _'It wouldn't work anyway. No templar would be that dumb. Would they?'_

When she lifted her head again, Ser Cullen jerked his head away too quickly to be discreet, apparently absorbed in blotting at his armor.

He did look rather thick, actually. Looks could be deceiving, but his looks indicated that he was all muscle and very little brain. Maybe...

But she didn't have a chance to work up the courage to try it. Somehow, she wasn't surprised in the least to wake up at the witching hour with an enormous hand pressed over her mouth. That didn't mean she was pleased. She might have been afraid to see metal gleaming facelessly in the moonlight. But all Neria felt was her heart skip a beat. She swallowed.

Ser Cullen pulled his hand away and held a finger to his lips. Then he stepped back so that she could get up.

Neria untangled herself from her sheets with as much dignity as she could muster. Her frightened heartbeat was obscuring the familiar murmurs and soft breath of sleeping apprentices. Thud. Thud.

 _'They're going to kill me, and I haven't even mastered my first ice spell. It's not fair.'_

Thud. Someone was talking in the distance.

Ser Cullen waited by the doorway, looking pointedly away. He was probably giving her privacy to dress. All Neria did was put on slippers and cross her arms defiantly. Her sleeping shift was modest enough- it hung loose to her ankles.

ThudThud.

"I'm ready."

The templar looked at her, but didn't comment. There was a pause.

She gave him an unimpressed look, nodding towards the doorway. She wondered who was talking. She couldn't hear the words, but she knew what they were saying.

Something scraped in his armor when he shifted. The pitch hurt her teeth. "I'm, uh. Supposed to walk behind you."

"Oh." Neria uncrossed her arms and started down the hall. She considered throwing back a rude, Anders-esque comment about the likelihood of mages attempting to run from their Harrowing. But no. She didn't want to talk to him like he was a person. Maybe if she'd known how he watched her earlier, she could have used him to get out.

Too late for that, ma _g_ eli **n** g. Try something else...

 _'I'm going to have to do this the honest way._ ' Her footsteps faltered on the steps to the fourth floor. She could smell a fresh breeze- the windows were often open in the upper levels.' _I hate the honest way. I'm not good enough as a mage to pass a test meant for people older than me.'_

"Apprentice Surana?"

It was talking to her again. Foul beast. Inferior creature. It dare **d** _tal_ k _t_ _ **o**_ _h_ **e** _ **r.**_

 _'I probably wouldn't make it very far if I cooked him in his armor.'_

The scenario played out like a story in her mind- she could whirl on the templar and send his body clanging down all the winding stairs. She was nearly to the room where the templars slept. She could burst into their quarters and go out in a blaze of _**g**_ **lory**. _Sh_ e wou **ld** be a **le** _ **g**_ **e** _ **nd**_ to **f** u **tu** r **e** appre _nt_ ices and mages. Or she could fling herself out a window before anyone could react- or **sum** mo _n_ a d **e** mon to take as ma **n** y templars with _he_ r as possi **b** le, ca _rna_ ge beyond what a single mage apprentice could hope to accomplish. He would crack them open like toys a _nd su_ c _k o_ _ **u**_ _t t_ he _ir life. He w_ ould _sm_ _ **e**_ _ar_ thei _r p_ iti _f_ _ **ul**_ _st_ _ **ru**_ _ggl_ es a _gainst_ the wall and _pin the c_ _ **orp**_ _ses_ open with their own **tee** th.

 _'Wait. This isn't my usual fantasy.'_

The demons quietened, Rage and Pride dripping away.

Right. Common sense felt like cold water in her hair, cupping over her hears and obscuring bad advice.

 _'Go away,_ ' Neria thought fiercely. Her fingers tightened into fists at her side. _'I don't want glory or vengeance.'_

No, but you do want.

 _'What?'_

There was only silence. Or, at least, the normal sounds of a head.

"Are you alright?" Ser Cullen paused with his oversized mitt on the great door that led into the templar's quarters. The Harrowing chamber laid past, guarded by the entire insufferable host of religious warriors.

No.

"Yes." Neria managed.

Ser Cullen gave her a long, considering silence under his helmet. He might have been attempting to communicate something meaningful. She had no idea what.

Neria folded her hands and looked down at them. She considered cleaning out the spaces underneath her fingernails.

"Right." Ser Cullen coughed weakly. "Let's go." With that, he flipped a strange triangular mechanism and pushed the doors open.

' _The templars don't live much nicer than we do,'_ Neria noted, surprised. They had their own beds instead of bunks- but only apprentice mages lived in bunks, so that wasn't so strange. She didn't have time to poke around, unfortunately.

First Enchanter Irving was waiting in the Harrowing chamber. Something in her chest loosened. The First Enchanter would look out for one of his own. Surely she would come to no harm with him here.

Knight-Commander Greagor was less encouraging a sight.

Their words washed over her. She'd heard variations all her life- magic was not to be used for personal gain or to achieve dominion. Mages had to fight their inherent evil. She had to prove that she was worthy of wielding her power.

The most interesting event was the white-glowing hand that First Enchanter Irving passed over her face. She didn't have time to postulate about the spell, because she was falling asleep.

And waking up. She was standing. That was a funny thing to do while sleeping, wasn't it?

It took a moment to shake off disorientation. Neria traveled to the fade nightly- but she didn't often remember what she did while she was there. And it was never so vivid. She was in the fade but fully conscious?

How odd.

The panic of just minutes ago was gone. Her heartbeat was so steady that- actually, she couldn't hear or feel her heartbeat at all. Neria couldn't work up the care to be bothered by that.

She took stock of her surroundings. They were bleak. The ground under her feet looked like stone, but gave as if she was walking on cheese.

 _'Actually, the whole place smells a bit like cheese. Damp and pungent.'_

Neria immediately wished she had not made that association. It just wasn't dignified to know that the source of all power in the world smelled like bad cheese.

"Hello."

The voice came from below.

Neria wrinkled her nose and frowned. "I should have expected you," she told the mouse. "If this is a joke, it's a bad one."

It was hard to read the expression of a mouse, but it might have been confused. "You... What now?"

"Oh come on. Cheeses and mice." She waved it off. "Be gone, dream. I need to focus. This is a test, apparently. I need to prove myself."

To templars. The idea of doing what they wanted grated. She didn't want to prove anything to them. But the idea did provide some clues about what she needed to do to escape- the templars were terrified that mages would either escape the tower or become abominations. Her physical body was currently under templar guard: they weren't testing her ability to meekly enforce her own imprisonment.

"No- I'm not part of a dream!" the mouse protested. Its back stiffened. "I was once an apprentice like you."

Neria paused to consider that. "Then why are you a mouse?"

"You can call me Mouse," the mouse began.

"No thanks," Neria disagreed immediately, just because she could. That was evidence towards the 'the mouse is in my imagination' theory. Of course she would be so boring as to call a mouse by its species.

The mouse didn't stop talking, but it might have sped up a bit. "I don't know how long I've been here. Time is strange in the Fade. I was an apprentice. I must have failed my Harrowing."

That, at least, indicated that the mouse knew something she was interested in. "Oh?" Neria adjusted her stance.

The mouse perked up a bit, eager to share his misery. "Yes. It's cruel, is what it is. They sent you in here with a terrible demon. If you don't defeat it in time, then they cut you down." His tail curled. "I've been here so long. I don't... I don't remember what it's like in the real world."

That was nothing that she couldn't have come up with. Vague, useless, and confirmed the theory she'd already thought of.

"Where is the demon?"

The mouse didn't know.

"How do I defeat it?"

The mouse didn't know.

"How long do I have?"

The mouse couldn't tell time in the Fade. It could have been days since his Harrowing, or years.

"I see." Neria bit her lower lip and considered the information. ' _Mouse sounds like even more of a loser than Jowan. He can't help me, even if he's not just part of my dream.'_

She wished she had her staff. She wasn't the most magically talented apprentice, but if nothing else, she could hit things with it.

There. In the distance- the fade was changing colors. Neria tuned the mouse out, watching the skyline change. The droll mush underfoot was gone. Pinks and yellows were bursting and twisting into blue. It wasn't just any blue- it was noon blue of a hot, clear day, when the air was still and insects were making unearthly sounds. Grass sprang underneath her feet.

She felt like she was waking up.

Mouse was shouting. She could hear his words, but not his meaning.

Neria kept walking. Bees the size of spellbooks bubbled out of the thick grass, flying low and fat. She felt her face stretch in a smile- and the skin pulled oddly. It was just her sunburn. It had been silly of her, but she had been laying out all day and watching clouds pass.

But there weren't any clouds?

Now there were. That one looked like Ergamond's Bestiary of Toothy and Poisonous Fauna. The one above it was the engraved mirror from the servant's quarters that she'd lived in from ages 5 to 9. She could tell, because it was reflecting her own face back at her, and that of the keeper beside her.

"Are you ready to go?" Keeper Marethari was a constant, moving with the sun every day. Now, she stood still. She was even taller than she had been with Neria was a child- now, Neria could see past the grandmotherly kindness to the ironbark will and the writhing ball of power that allowed her to protect the tribe from anyone who might try to interfere with their movements.

The Dalish went where they pleased. Routing the humans from the great trade hubs of their ancestors had been fine, but they did not want to be confined to stone walls once they had them. Still the Dalish walked ever on, following the halla to tomorrow. The sun was going down. She was going to be initiated in the secrets of a keeper- she must, if she was to be the keeper's first. There was no other mage child in the group, so Neria was calm. She didn't have to fight to keep up or pursue power she didn't care about. But when comfortable leadership fell into her lap, who was she to say no? Perhaps one day, she would find something else that she wanted. Then, she would take it.

"Neria?"

Mayli waited by the fire. She was the most beautiful woman in the world. Her armor was made of captured stars, hammered and coaxed into shape with butterflies and the pads of her thumbs. It shone, reflecting Neria's face back. She looked tired. Why was she tired?

Neria blinked back to herself. She gave the desire demon another look-over for good measure. Mayli's face melted away, into a pout and a long neck over thin strings of golden beads that left nothing to the imagination.

"Are you the demon I'm meant to defeat, then?" Neria clenched sweaty fists.

"No." The desire demon sounded almost disappointed. "It's a shame. I thought that I had you this time."

This time?

Neria tried to wipe her thoughts from her face. She wasn't certain that she succeeded. "Unfortunately not," she agreed snidely, pushing back fear. She'd been snared so easily. "Try again tomorrow, I suppose."

"Oh, believe me, I will." The demon was purring. "I know you. He doesn't have a chance, poor thing. You know your weaknesses and faults. It's not the classic mage downfall, is it?" Her form moved oddly, highlighting the delicate line of her waist. "No, you're a girl after my heart." She pulled at her chest illustratively, forcing a clawed finger past the barrier of smooth, dewy flesh to hint at what laid underneath. It sparkled, juicy and sharp. Neria's mouth watered. Desire let her skin close again, hiding the heart."If I told you that I could set you free if you had it, you'd open my skin with your teeth, wouldn't you?"

She kept her lips pressed shut. She ran her tongue along the inside of her upper teeth.

 _'I don't want to fight her. I'd need a staff to even have a chance. If I let her think that there's a chance she could get me at a later date, she might let me go. Better a host later than a corpse now. At least, from a desire demon's perspective.'_

'It's not the worst idea," the demon critiqued. She shifted, arching her back. "But oh, do you want and _want_. You burn with it." She smiled. She had an extra row of teeth. "Here's some information for free, since we get on so well. The mouse is a demon."

Mouse roared with rage- and then roared with something else entirely. The sound filled his being to the brim and spilled over, pulling at his flesh. He folded up and up and up, until Neria's head was tilted back to stare up in faint horror.

That was a true demon. Desire was a demon too, but at least she put a pretty face on it. That thing-

"Pride," it purred. The thing undulated towards her. "Pride and preconception have been the downfall of many a mage." Sparks flew- but not at Neria. Desire lifted a hand almost lazily, trailing a thin mirror of ice. The globs of heat deflected and oh, that was satisfying to see in person. She wanted to be able to do that.

"You can have this one," Pride rumbled. It wasn't talking to her. "I've eaten well of late. There will be more tomorrow." It shifted again, and for a moment, Prim's voice echoed its' words. "Easy eating is better."

"Oh?" Desire raised her left eyebrow. She didn't look away from Pride. "I'm glad we could come to an agreement. Sweetling."

Neria took a step forward. She didn't know why.

"You deny me this time, then?"

"Ye- I deny you this time," Neria corrected hastily. It was never intelligent to tell a demon yes in any form.

Desire smiled. Her extra row of teeth had shifted into a forked tongue. "What a shame. Another time."

The stone was cold beneath her back. She was staring up at the Knight-Commander. His expression quickly shifted into impassivity. She'd thought he'd seemed sad, at first. "Mage Surana," he greeted. "I see you are awake."

From behind her, there was the sound of a sword moving in a sheath. She twisted, eyes wide with fear. But Ser Cullen was putting his blade away.

Wait.

Why had she been so sure he was about to cut her down? Few templars were that prone to violence. She knew that.

"Never mind that." First Enchanter Irving was stepping forward, offering a blanket.

She took it without thinking.

The old mage gave a sympathetic expression. "My old bones ache just seeing you down there, my child. Rise, as a member of the circle."

 _'I did it?"_

Neria let herself be pulled up, heart working too fast. She didn't feel victorious. She didn't feel like she had done anything worth increasing the circle's trust in her person or faith in her skills. She hadn't fought any demons.

Did they think she had? Had she somehow passed their test wrongly?

 _'Better keep your mouth shut. These templars, they won't understand.'_

"That was remarkably fast," the Knight-Commander remarked suspiciously.

It was as if he'd heard her thoughts. Sweat prickled up her neck despite the cold.

There was a soft clink when he moved."That Harrowing was far faster than a mageling of your ability should manage, in fact. A record."

"Greagor," the First Enchanter interceded. His voice was stiff with disapproval. "Perhaps Mage Surana has hidden depths." The look he turned on her was more calculating than she would have expected from such a kindly old man. Something in her knew that she needed to appease him, ensure he had no suspicions. He wasn't the harmless old man she'd long thought. He was something else, something dangerous.

' _Hidden de_ _ **pt**_ _hs indeed,_ ' came the purr. ' _Clever girl.'_

Neria smiled weakly, even as her heart dropped to her stomach.

That hadn't been her thought. It wasn't right, it wasn't her. Voices in her head were normal, but... That wasn't how demons usually sounded.

 _'What exactly was it I said? I deny you this time?'_

Desire laughed.


	2. Waver

Neria kept her back to the wall and attempted to be very, very quiet in the days following her Harrowing. The enforced hush of the library helped a bit, but it would be a lie to say no one noticed. The Circle had a thorough and vicious system of gossip. She heard herself branded broken-hearted by Anders' escape, uppity now that the First Enchanter was taking interest in her, and even that she had been turned mute by the trauma of the Harrowing.

Which, indirectly speaking, wasn't so far off from the truth.

 _'You're like zits_ ,' Neria thought. She gritted her teeth and pressed her tongue to the roof of her mouth, so that she could absolutely certain she was not saying anything aloud. _'Dreaded and embarrassing. But you'll go away on your own soon enough. What I don't feed dies.'_

 _'I certainly haven't heard that before,_ ' the demon sighed. _'How droll. Why don't you try something else? Wish the bad thoughts away, or swear yourself to celibacy, or go pray in one of those god-forsaken crypts you mortals like so much.'_

That took a moment to parse.

'The Chantry?' Neria half-asked.

The demon hummed. ' _Those are the three usual attempted solutions, before bargaining begins or you turn yourself in to one of Templars.'_

That was never, ever going to happen. Being taken kicking and screaming to the Tower by templars had been bad enough. She was under no illusions about their brand of mercy and ability to be reasonable about the dangers that mages faced.

' _You're right. It could happen to anyone, really_.' Neria rubbed the back of her neck. _'No one understands us.'_

Wait. What?

"Stop doing that!"

Someone yelped on the other side of the stacks and what sounded like a book hit the ground.

 _'Masterfully subtle. No one will ever suspect that something has changed when your behavior is so restrained.'_

Desire sounded like she was regretting her choice of victim, which was just too undignified to be borne. But she wasn't wrong.

Neria hurried out into the halls just in time to see the stair doors shut on a man's back. The glimpse was so strange that she paused. He'd been wearing unfamiliar armor and was unaccompanied by Templars. That made no sense. He couldn't be a mage. But people didn't simply up and visit Kinloch Hold, even if they wanted to.

 _'He's from the army,'_ Neria realized. Two days ago, she would have hoped not to be noticed by recruiters. She didn't want to go to war. She wasn't ready. She would never be ready. But now...

Assuming she wasn't brutally killed, she might have an opportunity to slip away. The templars might not even look for her. There would be plenty of bodies. It wasn't unlikely that hers might be unrecognizable or lost in the fray.

 _'I'd be free. I could go where I wanted, do what I wanted.'_

Neria paused.

 _'And find out how to get rid of you.'_

 _'But then your head would be empty,'_ Desire said sympathetically _. 'Wouldn't that be sad?'_

She couldn't hear the difference between her thoughts and Desire's voice anymore. Maker, that was creepy.

She needed to talk to that recruiter. Neria wouldn't get the same letter of recommendation that precious Amell had, or indeed any of the older recruits, but the man wouldn't be here if he wasn't picky. And it wasn't like Neria was too useless to go out of the tower. She was just less experienced and hadn't had all the lessons that the regular mages had. Surely volunteering would count for more than a glowing commendation from a teacher?

Neria bit her lip. It was a habit she had long tried to break, or alter to a more sultry pinch of her lower lip between her teeth. Unfortunately, Neria nibbled at her upper lip when she was stressed. She looked something like a bulldog.

The templar on the upper floor gave her a stern look when she eased out of the stairwell, but he didn't stop her from trundling off towards the First Enchanter's Office.

The recruiter would have to go to see Irving. Surely no one could just wander in off the streets, tuck a mage under their arm, and head out to war. Irving and Greagor both would have to sign off on it.

She cringed at the thought, just a bit. Greagor had already pointed out that her Harrowing was suspicious.

 _'No time for that concern.'_

But speak of the devil- Greagor was all but shouting inside the First Enchanter's office. Intrigued, Neria carefully picked her way closer, setting her feet down silently and making her breath pattern shallow. It was difficult to understand through the heavy door, but-

"utterly ridiculous. Extravagant freedoms have led to this point... bold...blood mage."

Neria straightened in alarm. This was not a conversation she wanted to be caught overhearing.

"Mage Surana?"

She didn't stiffen. She didn't.

Inside the office, Greagor quietened.

"Hello, Ser templar," she greeted, trying to sound like she wasn't considering hitting him for alerting Greagor. It'd only hurt her hand. "How lovely to see you."

"I- ah." Ser Cullen scraped one of the horrid metal boots against the stone floor. "Are you here to see the First Enchanter?"

She wasn't, but she gave him a pitying look. "Well. This is the First Enchanter's doorway."

Ser Cullen didn't blush prettily, she noticed. The color came on in splotches, rising under cheeks that hadn't been shaved as neatly as they could have been.

The door opened before he managed to fumble a response. Knight-Commander Greagor leaned into the hallway and gave Ser Cullen a very long, measured look.

"Neria, child. Do come in. Greagor was just leaving." Irving saved the uncomfortable moment, gesturing her in. "Duncan, this is our most recently Harrowed mage."

The recruiter seemed even taller next to Irving and Greagor, as if proper scale comparison was needed to believe just how big he was. The man- Duncan? -inclined his head toward her. "I see. Congratulations are in order, then. You seem young for a member of the circle."

"These are dark times," Irving rumbled. But he looked towards the Knight-Commander. His smile was placid. "Nonetheless, young Neria has done quite well. Her Harrowing was exceptional. She broke the record recently set by my personal apprentice. I think we can expect great things from her."

Neria _deeply_ desired that Irving would stop talking about that.

But his comment seemed to have interested the recruiter. The enormous man gave her his full attention for the first time. Duncan's eyes were coldly assessing. They darted back to her and seemed to weigh her worth, tracking over her hands, the set of her chin, and then bore directly into her gaze. But his voice was warm. "I fear that you're embarrassing her, my old friend. Nonetheless, that is quite a feat."

 _'To be on such familiar terms with a First Enchanter seems strange for a mere recruiter.'_

Was it? Neria couldn't tell. Desire's knowledge in this was probably better than hers.

Greagor harrumped, giving the mages one last contemptuous look. Apparently he enjoyed hearing Neria praised about as much as she did. "Remember what I said, Irving." He strode out into the hall before anyone responded.

"Of course, of course," Irving said vaguely, waving his hand. She wasn't entirely sure it was a response to Greagor. He stepped closer to his desk. "If you're still interested in the mage we discussed, Duncan, I must admit that you've missed her. She's gone with the king's men."

The warrior stilled. "Oh?"

Irving made a disapproving sound. "You know young people. So eager to prove their worth." He moved some books to the side, clearly searching for something on his desktop. "However, I'm certain that she will be found easily enough."

Duncan frowned. "It is... not ideal," he allowed slowly. "By the time I arrive, the army may already have sent several detachments to perform functions. I mislike the idea of assuming that this mage will be waiting at camp."

It didn't sound like Duncan was a regular recruiter. But what else was there? Who could poach a recruit from the King's army? Was there any organization in Ferelden who rivaled the king's authority, other than the Chantry?

Her blood ran cold. The Chantry.

The First Enchanter was still flipping through a book. He paused for a moment when Duncan spoke, but quickly restarted. "I see. I'm sorry to send you back empty-handed."

But Duncan didn't look like a templar.

"I'm afraid that I cannot return empty-handed." There was something terribly final in Duncan's voice. An otherwoldly presence was bolstering his words, leaving them heavy with something that felt like prophecy. Neria gave him her full attention. She was wary for reasons she didn't understand.

The office was silent. Irving had stopped moving. Neria had stopped breathing.

The First Enchanter broke the silence. "I think that we will continue this conversation later, when you have rested and gathered your thoughts. You must be tired. Neria, would you please escort Duncan to the guest quarters?"

Directions should have been sufficient to get Duncan to his quarters, but she didn't protest. Neria was glad to leave Irving. She bowed at the doorway, fingers fidgeting into her robes. Irving gave her a much more casual bow and waved her out. She glanced at Duncan. She opened her mouth to say something bright and cheery, like, 'please follow me.' That would be the polite thing to do.

Neria said nothing. She led Duncan to his quarters silently. He ducked in past her.

She gave the room a quick look. There was a traveling case beside the bed and curls of mud on a dark cloth that had clearly been wet not so long ago.

 _'He could have found it. Irving must not trust him, if he doesn't want Duncan to walk back to his room alone.'_

No. That wasn't right.

"What do you think?" Neria asked. She hoped she was right.

Duncan had begun to fiddle with the leather straps on one of his pauldrons. At her question, he paused. "Pardon?"

"Of me," Neria clarified. Her stomach lurched. "You wanted Mage Amell, but she is gone. Irving deliberately spoke well of me and left us alone after you mentioned that you need a new recruit." She let her conclusion hang unspoken.

Maker, if she was wrong, she would sound like such an arrogant ass.

The big man was silent.

 _'Have I just made a fool of myself?'_

Then Duncan lowered his chin and met her eyes squarely. "I see that you are rather quick on the uptake, Mage Neria." Calculation traced a line between his eyebrows.

"You aren't with the army," Neria pressed, because she'd been right once but she didn't understand that part-

"I am not," Duncan agreed. He seemed faintly amused. "I am here representing the Grey Wardens."

Grey Wardens? She thought they weren't allowed in Ferelden. But- they were certainly a powerful organization, or had been when her books were written. If Grey Wardens really were in Ferelden, they might rival the Chantry in influence.

For a moment, she was too shocked to respond. Desire soared up into her skin.

 _'He is our way out.'_

"Where do I sign?" Neria smiled. She hoped she seemed charming and competent. Surely he could hear her heart thudding.

Duncan looked away. "You seem eager. Being a Grey Warden is not a glamorous lifestyle. I'm afraid that you won't have the comforts of the Circle Tower."

It seemed more than a little odd that a recruiter would present a tempered view of his organization, but she didn't care about that right now. Neria pressed. "But it would get me out of the tower." She paused. That sounded too selfish. "I could help people. I could do something about the blight." There, that sounded better.

"Blight?" Duncan asked mildly. "Whoever said that?" Sunlight slowly moved over his armor as he turned toward her.

Neria gave him an odd look. "That's what the stories all say. Grey Wardens fight the blight. And there are darkspawn on the surface. That means a blight, doesn't it?"

His lips quirked up into something that was not a smile. "It is not so simple as that. I wish that others held your view, however."

There was a story there that she was missing. She didn't care about it right now.

"I want to join," Neria said firmly, just in case he had missed her implication the first time. "I'm volunteering."

Duncan closed his eyes. He looked ten years older. "Very well. I will discuss this with Irving in the morning. If all goes well, we may depart for Ostagar sooner than I had hoped."

He didn't sound like a man who had just gotten everything he wanted.

Neria waited until she'd left the room to breathe a sigh of relief.

 _'A Grey Warden...'_ Desire tasted the thought. ' _How ambitious of you.'_

Not really. The thought shouldn't thrill her. She'd just been lucky that the real recruit was already gone.

 _'No, why shouldn't I be happy about it?'_ Neria rejected her pessimism. ' _Fine, so I don't really deserve it. Who cares? It's the perfect opportunity. I get out of here, out from under the Chantry's thumb. It's better than going with the army- the army mages get a taste of freedom and then have to come back. I'm gone for good.'_

The older mages could put _that_ in a pipe and smoke it.

True to his word, Duncan must have met with the First Enchanter early in the morning. Neria fidgeted in her room and kept an eye out as to who passed by in the halls. At half past seven, a junior Templar passed by on his way downstairs. He came meekly back up on the Knight-Commander's heels not forty minutes later. She shrank back from the piercing glare that Greagor set on her when he passed.

As soon as his clanking steps had passed, she discarded the book she hadn't really been reading in favor of packing. She didn't have much, other than her three sets of robes and a week's worth of underthings. No one would give a mage an actual pack, so she pulled stitches on a set of robes and knotted it until it formed a respectably sturdy carrying sling. The only item she dithered over was a worrystone. Neria didn't like carrying it- it was marked with a sign of her mother's faith, not hers. But...

She found a spot for it.

When Duncan came for her, she was waiting by the stair door.

The look he gave her was completely bland. In fact, it was expressionless to the point that he was clearly hiding a negative thought.

Neria pursed her lips and tried not to look quite so pathetically eager to leave.

Duncan let out a slow sigh. "You are ready to leave, then?" At her nod, he unfolded his arms. "We shall not impose upon the Knight-Commander's good hospitality any longer, then."

They were halfway across the lake before her curiousity got the better of her.

"I thought that Grey Wardens had been banned from Ferelden?" Neria stared out over the lake instead of at her companion, trying to seem only mildly interested.

Her recruiter didn't seem surprised by the question. "Yes. That ban was lifted by King Cailan in recent years. Unfortunately, our numbers are still small, and there are those who view our order with suspicion."

That sounded interesting. Neria leaned forward, barely noticing that the boat rocked. "Like who?"

Duncan sighed again. "The Teryn Loghain, for one." He sounded resigned to this grim information. "He is not alone. Many who fought in Ferelden's war against the false king are wary of outsiders."

"Is that why Ferelden's wardens are few, or is it just the short amount of time for recruiting?"

When he didn't answer immediately, Neria risked a glance at her companion. Then she flushed red. Duncan was giving her a very patient look, one brow raised.

"Right." Neria cleared her throat. That topic was clearly closed.

Duncan took pity on her. "I don't suppose that you have ever ridden a horse?" He was still sitting as straight as he had when they'd settled into the boat.

Neria consciously straightened her hunched back. "No." Surely sitting sidesaddle in front of a templar on the way to the Tower didn't count.

The hum he gave in response was ominous.

Once it was done, Neria decided that she preferred not to reflect on her first long-distance journey on horseback. Surely the next one would be better. She was still in a sour mood, however, when they handed the horses off to the stables outside Ostagar and began traveling to the encampment.

Metal was moving- and not Duncan. Neria glanced up from her contemplation of the soil on her boots to see an unnecessarily tall man making his way toward them. The crowd parted to allow his easy passage.

She thought she might have heard Duncan sigh again, but she couldn't be sure.

"Duncan! This must be your newest recruit." There was a pleasant quality to the man's voice- almost jovial.

Neria stayed a step behind Duncan regardless. No matter his tone, there was something that put her off about the stranger. It might have been that he had the most aesthetically appealing armor around. The metal gleamed with etchings that put the templar's best to shame. He had money or connections.

"King Cailan." Duncan inclined his head. "Well met."

 _'I knew he was an important shem.'_

 _'Where would you like your trophy for discerning obvious facts?'_

 _'Shouldn't you be kinder to me if you want to lure me into the path of decadence and amorality?'_

"I'm surprised that you got your mage." And then the king looked directly at Neria. She stilled, not hearing whatever reply her personal demon made. He didn't seem happy. "After all, the templars were rather insistent that their will rather outweighed mine on the issue of mages leaving the tower. Something about the Chantry superseding the Crown, I believe." His voice was light. She didn't believe it for an instant.

 _'I'm not yours to command, either.'_

But he was powerful and might be influenced to do something she wanted, so Neria forced her face into a smile. Friendly. Like she liked him. It did not come naturally.

 _'Let me,_ ' Desire urged. _'I will bend him to your will.'_

 _'That's a terrible idea. No.'_

 _'I can't possibly be any worse than you.'_

She could see the moment that the man registered her expression. The human blinked at her, and some of the darkness in his mood left. "My apologies. What shall I call you?"

 _'Last name would be appropriate but-'_

"Neria," she provided smoothly. Her eyes crinkled. She thought of the way that Anders pitched his voice when he talked to pretty girls. The words that Desire formed floated out of her mouth. There was very little of Neria in the charm that followed. "I'm pleased to make your acquaintance. I admit, I rather prefer your opinion to that of the Knight-Commander. It seems strange that a foreign organization claims precedence over Fereldan's authority to govern her own people."

Duncan was watching her. His expression was mild, but something in the set of his eyes implied he did not approve.

But King Cailan laughed. "And I am pleased to make yours. Perhaps I will see you again, after your Grey Warden initiation is completed. I admit to some jealousy." He actually winked, the scoundrel. Desire hummed in the back of her head. "I will have to settle to go into battle at your side, basking in the reflected glory of the legendary Grey Wardens."

 _'He's actually a little funny,'_ Neria begrudgingly acknowledged.

"We all have our place, sire." There was a hint of reproach in Duncan's voice. "You are correct. I must start the preparations at camp. Thank you. I must admit, I did not expect a royal welcome."

Cailan waved the implicit question off, indulging it carelessly. "Oh, I'm afraid Loghain has everything under control. I just returned from Denerim. I'm sure you know that Anora is expecting in only a few months. We'll wrap this mess up and combine the naming celebrations with the parade for our glorious victory." He turned a thoroughly soppy grin in the direction that must have been Denerim.

' _Who is Anora?'_ Desire asked sharply.

 _'Why are you asking me?'_ Neria rolled her eyes, not noticing the quick, wary movement Duncan made to see whether or not the King had noticed her rude gesture. She turned her attention to Desire as Duncan made their excuses to the king. _'The maiden fair, locked in a tower guarded by monsters, remember? We didn't get a weekly paper.'_

Caught up in her conversation, she didn't exactly notice when she started walking. Duncan steered her through the camp, passing bustling outfitters and a line of young men helping knights fasten their armor. "Neria."

She glanced up, torn from her continued bickering with Desire.

He made eye contact. His voice was light. "It is likely that you will be asked to attend a strategy meeting tomorrow. I suggest that you avoid raising questions or making your personal opinions known."

Outrage bubbled in her gut.

 _'Are you entirely certain that we can't drag him away and make him our slave? I'm sure we have something he desires.'_

That would be satisfying.

No. It wouldn't. That's not what you do with people who irritate you, Neria told herself. She didn't bother to answer the demon. Desire drifted into the fade with a sigh, apparently done watching the world through Neria's eyes.

"I would let you rest, but there is work to be done tonight. Once you had settled your kit in those tents over there, find the Grey Warden Alistair." Duncan inclined his head towards a section of camp. "I will be making preparations."

Neria shot off a weak-wristed salute, letting her hand flop. "Of course."

Asking around about the Grey Warden Alistair resulted in surprisingly consistent groans and the clear but unspoken wish that the man would just drop dead. No matter his faults, it was blessedly easy to follow the sound of unhappy shouting to a man who had to be her target. Alistair... reminded her of Cailan, just a bit. They were both smooth-talking blonde walls of muscle.

Except... Neria crossed her arms and took a step back, narrowing her eyes at the man arguing with a mage she didn't know.

'It's bravado, in his case. King Cailan actually believes his own line. Alistair is just flippant.'

Wait. Was that me or was it you?

Desire huffed. 'You were repeating my thoughts.'

Well then. Neria shuffled her feet uncomfortably. The mage spat something angry and near-incomprehensible into Alistair's face.

Alistair grimaced and wiped at his cheek with the back of a palm. Oh. Unappetizing. Perhaps that had been actual spittle as well as vitriol.

Just to be safe, she waited until the mage had stormed off to slink forward. The Grey Warden was clearly aware of her presence, but he didn't look at her when he spoke.

"You know, my favorite thing about the Blight is how it brings people together." He paused dreamily.

Neria felt her face twist into a sneer.

 _'This man is an idiot.'_

 _'Idiots are useful.'_

Alistair was coughing, a fist to his mouth. "Well, then. You must be the new recruit."

' _That's nearly what Cailan said_ ,' Neria noted. She nodded, appeased by the subject change.

He smiled, relieved. "Ah- It's Amell, right?"

Whatever her expression was, it must have gotten worse.

Alistair took a step back and raised his hands. "Ah! Sorry, I'm an idiot. I'm terrible with names, I really should keep my mouth shut."

He babbled until she took pity on him. "It's Surana," she explained shortly. "Neria Surana."

It wasn't really his fault. And hadn't she decided not to care that she'd poached this opportunity from someone more talented?

"Right." His throat bobbed when he swallowed. "Surana it is. Well, I suppose Duncan sent you to get me?" When Alistair began walking, she fell in at his side. "We have work to do, then. We'll pick up the other two recruits and then meet Duncan at camp."

Once Alistair was guiding them all back to camp, Neria was becoming uncomfortably aware that she was rather out of place in the Wardens she'd met so far. All the others were male humans, and not mages.

 _'It's only four,_ ' she told herself sternly. ' _That's not enough people to make judgments about the group.'_

 _'No, they are mostly human males,'_ Desire corrected idly. She sighed warm breath down Neria's neck. _'There was a rather lovely human female not too long ago.'_

Neria paused. ' _Not too long ago in demon terms or in human terms_?'

Desire made a noncommittal sound.

The men, save for Duncan, began walking. Neria followed.

 _'Were you paying attention?'_ she asked Desire. ' _I don't know what we're doing.'_

 _'I wasn't listening_ ,' the demon admitted.

Right. That was fine. Alistair led them across camp to the southern edge, where tall wooden gates attempted to hold back the Korcari Wilds. And then they went out?

Ah, well. Neria followed, shrugging off concern. Alistair was a Grey Warden, no matter that he appeared to be an idiot. He wouldn't get them killed.

Howls ripped out of her childhood to split the air. She had her staff out before she could form a conscious response, breathing out the energy for a spell that would turn the mud to marsh underneath their pointy feet. The first wolf stumbled at the circle of transmuted ground, yelping pietously. The next one used the leader as a stepping stone and flew at Daveth. He ended it while it was still in the air, daggers flashing out to savage its throat.

Fire was in her lungs, filling her body with a warm euphoria. She threw out her arms and a beautiful circle of fire sang into existence in the path of the pack.

The beast on the center of the circle convulsed, hide lighting in a white flash. The wolf that had been nearly out of range had time to writhe, making gutteral sounds that couldn't quite be called screams or growling. Its tail was gone, along with a sizable portion of the flesh from its hindquarters. Neria watched the whites of the beast's eyes flash when the pupils rolled up into the skull.

Alistair's boots made a sucking sound when he lunged across the marsh to end the poor animal, as well as the one that was still struggling in muck halfway up its legs.

Neria held her breath, waiting for the next wolf. None came. After a long moment, she exhaled, smoke puffing out in a dissatisfied cloud.

Daveth had already put away his weapons. He huffed. "They didn't act like any wolves I've ever seen."

She glanced around the group. The knight was watching her, broad face pale and eyes wary. She met his stare evenly.

"Poor sods." Alistair wavered when he put up his sword. "Driven mad by the blight, I expect. Or just hungry."

Once again, Neria considered asking what their errand was. Instead, she slung her staff over her shoulder again and shook her hair out, breaking her stare with Jory.

It would become clear in time.

Their quest took them further south as the sun began to lay low in the air. Neria was looking skywards and beginning to worry about losing light when Alistair let out a shout.

"Darkspawn!"

That took her back to the world immediately. She didn't see anything.

There! She tightened her grip on her staff. Several dark shapes were cresting a hill. They weren't close enough for her to see details.

'That's the way I prefer it. Get them while they're distant.'

The same circle of fire blasted apart the group, sending one darkspawn rolling limply down the crest of the hill. One more disappeared from sight.

Bellows of anger rent the air. Neria felt her blood chill.

She didn't want them near her.

But what to cast now? They'd been split by her attack, and it would be a waste of mana to use that same spell on only one enemy. What else- she sent lightning at them, nearly having a heart attack when Jory burst into her line of fire and nearly caught the spell instead.

Neria might have screamed something. It might have been a criticism of his intelligence. But he wasn't alone- Alistair and Daveth were charging with him.

 _'No, thank you.'_

She set her jaw in stubborn determination.

After that, it became much more difficult for her to help. Whenever a darkspawn was foolish enough to step away from the group, she hurried to act. But more than once, she stopped mid-spark because one of her companions had lunged toward the darkspawn.

"Neria!" Daveth shouted.

"I know!" She inhaled deeply and jabbed in the direction of the dawkspawn charging directly at her. But she missed and oh shit oh shit it was fast and big and she wheeled backwards, spewing fire helplessly in a wide arch and it wasn't stopping oh Maker it wasn't stopping-

until it did, convulsing at her feet. She kept moving backwards, because even burnt and ruined beyond belief, the darkspawn was still reaching for her.

Neria shuddered. She felt sick. The darkspawn stopped moving.

"Right, time to get what we came for." She glanced up to see that Alistair was digging in his pack. He pulled out a cloth-wrapped bundle.

She looked away and tried to catch her breath. But he was holding something out to her. She took it. It was a bottle as tall as her hand was long, slender and pale with slight imperfections from impure glass materials.

Blood? She didn't exactly understand what Alistair was saying, but she numbly copied his demonstration. Sure. Fine. Her hand shuddered so close to a darkspawn.

It reminded her of the pride demon, with warped and mottled features. But the stench was like nothing she'd ever encountered.

 _'Maybe I'm not cut out for this. I should tell Duncan when we get back to camp that I was wrong.'_

it wouldn't be such a big deal. She'd been half-planning on deserting anyway. But... if she did that, people would know that she had left. Backing out wasn't like disappearing in the confusion of battle.

She couldn't. She'd have to slip away after the fighting had started. Neria didn't like the idea of decieving Duncan in that way, but...

 _'My needs first.'_

Her personal demon purred. She felt like that should make her change her mind, but it didn't.

They didn't turn back once they had collected blood. Neria didn't ask. Instead, she set her mouth in a grim line and stretched her magic and soul, raining fire down upon every darkspawn group that they encountered. And Maker, there were a lot of darkspawn scouts. If this was the numbers sent ahead of the horde to test the terrain, she didn't really want to think about how many of the things the army would face later. So of course, that was all that she could think about until Desire provided a distraction.

 _'There's something interesting over here.'_

Neria perked in the direction Desire had indicated. Daveth followed the motion, sharp-eyed and perpetually wary. The two warriors didn't note her movement.

 _'Interesting how?'_

Desire reached out into the world, tasting it. _'A powerful spirit has a foothold here. The reward for destroying it would be significant in the monetary terms you mortals like so much.'_

The way she'd said that made it sound like there was another option. Neria silently questioned it.

Desire's low reply sent heat to Neria's body, thrumming pleasantly. _'The reward for opening the door to this world and letting it pass would be far greater. A spirit like this one could bestow power that mortals have never tasted in exchange for freedom. We would leave. What concern of ours would the consequences be?'_

Tempting.

No! It wasn't. Neria stopped in her tracks, scowling. That, Alistair did notice.

"Is something wrong?"

She made a quick decision. "Yes," Neria answered. She jerked her head toward the cracked door. "Someone began unleashing a powerful spirit near here at one point. Anyone could finish the ritual at this point, mundane or not. But not many would be able to contain it."

Desire scoffed. _'Aren't you just a little Chantry miss?_ '

"Oh." Alistair's face darkened. "Is it close?"

Behind him, Jory made an appalled sound.

Neria ignored him and directed the group up a ridge. The summoning spot was a cracked rock with ashes and blood worked into crevices. She revised her previous assessment. The spirit had been summoned before, more than once. If it had managed to leave the spot and writhe further into the world, she could not tell.

 _'Mundanes have been using ashes from its first body,_ ' Desire assessed with only a quick look. ' _Creative. That would get its attention and promise a foothold in the world. We can do better, I think.'_

Neria hesitated. _'The more of it crosses, the more powerful it will be_?' She didn't know why she asked. She already knew that.

Desire seemed to agree. ' _Yes, pet. But think of the coin and power to be had. You'll need that to get away from your Wardens and Chantry.'_

She was entirely correct.

"Now see here," Jory was arguing. "I don't see why we can't leave well enough alone."

Daveth scoffed. "Hardly well enough, int it?"

She ignored them. _'Bring it here?'_

Desire settled into her flesh, bringing a chill with her into Neria's bones. She could feel the point where the warm flesh of her muscles and veins contacted ice on her skeleton. She did not like the feeling.

 _'Just a moment, lovely.'_

"Calm down, you two. We will be fine," Alistair placated.

When Desire sang into the fade, the spirit stirred. Neria's skin prickled. She could feel its ancient intelligence watching her, pulling her soul apart for consideration. _'Come and play with us,_ ' Desire cajoled. ' _We have humans for you. Look at them. Three fine men, strong and living, ready for your teeth.'_

That was all it took.

Daveth cursed and rolled to the side, evading a vicious side-swipe. Alistair didn't dodge in time, catching the blow against his armor and rolling down. Jory, of all people, was the first to strike. He yelled in frustration when his blade passed through the spirit, but-

"That hurts it!" Neria confirmed, heart pounding. The spirit was bleeding into the air. "Don't stop!"

She put some distance between her and the spirit, which was damn lucky since it turned its gaze to her at her betrayal. Jory went flying. It undulated toward her, raising a hand in a spell that would pull her bones to it.

Ice.

Ice? That was her weakest element. Why had that been her reflex? Neria flinched in confusion, but she didn't stop pouring out the chill in a cone of cold far superior to anything she'd even manifested. Perhaps fear made her magic stronger. No. Desire?

 _'You are welcome, lovely. You do not want a flaming spirit upon you.'_

The spirit struggled, hateful magic convulsing against its magical binding. it was only frozen from the front. The instant that she let up, Daveth slipped up behind the spirit and tore at it with his daggers. She had absolutely no chance of counting the cuts he made.

Alistair came roaring back up. Neria stepped aside. He hefted his sword and-

She stared.

 _'My, my_ ,' Desire noted, surprised. ' _That muscle isn't all for show.'_

He'd cleaved the spirit in two, ice and all.

The ice cracked and fell off, dissolving into nothing to reveal the bounty the spirit had been hoarding from previous victims. Neria couldn't quite bring herself to touch it, but Daveth could.

For a few moments, all she could hear was the heavy breathing of her male companions. Jory was scowling, a hand pressed into his side as though to push down bruises. Daveth was kneeling, carefully rooting through the remains with gloved hands.

Alistair broke the quiet. "Good job. Let's hope there aren't any more of those." He made a face, rolling a shoulder. He was probably in as much pain as Jory was. "I think we're close. Let's hurry. I don't want to be out here after dark."

 _'You won't make it back to camp if you are_ ,' Desire agreed.

That was... not comforting.

Apparently, their goal was some sort of decrepit ruin. Neria hung back, letting Jory and Alistair test the ground. Daveth saw what she was doing and exchanged a sly look, raising his eyebrows. Oh. Was he doing the same thing? She felt herself smile, just a bit.

"They're gone." Alistair sounded devastated. "How can this be? Duncan said..." His fist dug into the armor on his bent leg.

"So this is why you are here. I wondered what you were looking for."

Suddenly, all four of them were standing back to back, scanning for the unfamiliar voice. Neria swallowed, still shaken by the barrage of darkspawn and the spirit she had fought. What now?

The stranger went on, theatrical. "I have followed you for some time. Where do they go? What are they looking for?"

There. Neria elbowed Daveth, relaxing at visual confirmation.

It was just a woman, like any other. Her clothes were rather minimal, but Neria couldn't say if they were strange. All she knew of clothes was robes and armor.

But the woman was ghostly pale, considering her bare skin and dark hair. Perhaps that was why Alistair drew away.

"Careful. She's a mage."

Neria gave Daveth a surprised look. "So?" What was that supposed to mean? So was she.

The stranger tossed her head back and laughed. "You there. Women do not frighten so easily as boys. Tell me, why are you here?"

Oh. Hell. Neria could feel everyone looking at her.

 _'No, no, no. This can't be happening.'_

Desire cackled. ' _You should have asked Daveth, when no one was looking.'_

Everyone was waiting. She had to say something.

Neria sighed. "No idea, I wasn't paying attention."

Everyone was quiet. The weight of four appalled stares was heavy on her shoulders. Neria tried not to shrink back.

"Well," Alistair broke the silence. He cleared his throat. "This used to be a Grey Warden tower."

As the conversation shifted away from her, Neria relaxed. _'Fine. I'm an idiot. At least we're both inattentive fools_ ,' she comforted herself.

Desire hummed in response. ' _Oh, now I remember_ ,' Desire said cheerfully. _'You're here looking for ancient paperwork._ '

"ancient treaties," Alistair continued, gesturing curtly. "However-"

Neria felt her face contort into a scowl.

 _'You are the worst.'_


	3. Ostagar

Neria sulked so far behind the group that she couldn't see Morrigan. The older witch took them across the humid, rocky wilds down narrow paths. Thick brambles penned them in so that they couldn't escape clouds of buzzing insects. Alistair, in particular, was beset by dozens of them at a time.

When one landed on her arm and bit, Neria sparked with irritation. The black beast sizzled and fell off dead.

Oddly, after that, none of them bothered her again. The six insects shadowing her chose to focus on Daveth. He swatted them away with curses.

The further they walked, the louder the buzzing became, and the wilder the flying was. The insects dove at the objects of their preoccupation again and again, bouncing off of deflecting hands and once nearly managing to disappear up Jory's nose before he cried out and shook it off.

Her companions grew increasingly frantic, waving at the air and fidgeting. Neria watched with a detached interest. Maybe it was Morrigan's doing. She seemed the type to punish people for being rude to her.

The brambles ended, revealing a sad little house. They were standing on the edge of a clearing open to the sky, flat and hot and dry. The insects were gone.

Hmm. That was nice. Probably some kind of spell to make the area more homey.

The door opened. "Mother, I've brought guests." Morrigan called airily.

The old woman cut her off. "I see them, girl." The response was delivered with the sort of towering condescension that Neria only expected from senior enchanters.

 _'She's a mage,'_ Neria decided, turning her attention back to the scenery _. 'No one else is that rude.'_

It certainly was an interesting place to live, though. Trees leaned into the clearing at regular intervals. Their limbs were scarred, charred, and occasionally sporting dangling rope that had long begun to fray and rot. The very center was bare earth with deep marks from something heavy.

 _'What is this even for?'_

Desire breathed ice down her neck. She did not speak.

Oh, the others were talking again.

"Flemeth?" Daveth's voice leapt up an octave. "The witch of the wilds?"

"Be quiet," Jory hissed. "Do you really want to make her mad, if she's that powerful?"

Somehow, Flemeth seemed not to have heard Jory. "Some call me that, yes," the old woman said dismissively. "Names are pretty but useless. I expect that you came here for the treaties?"

Alistair bristled. "Yes, and we expect-"

Flemeth interrupted him. "You may have them. Morrigan."

"Oh." The Grey Warden blinked, leaning away when Morrigan passed him to enter the pitiful one room cottage. "I... thank you?"

Unimpressed, Neria crossed her arms and stepped away from her group. Maybe, if she was really lucky, no one would think she was with them.

The motion caught Flemeth's attention.

"Oh, my."

Something about the tone, low and pleased, made Neria wary. She felt her shoulders stiffen. " _Yes_?"

Jory made a frustrated sound at her sharp tone.

"Not what I expected," Flemeth mused. She crossed the clearing far too quickly for such a stiff, sickly looking old woman.

Neria jerked away, but not in time to prevent Flemeth from catching the loose ends of her hair.

"What are you _doing_?"

Flemeth leaned down and smiled. Alistair was saying something in an offended tone, but Neria was too concerned with the stale breath and pointed teeth being presented to her.

"See that you do not make any unwise decisions." Flemeth wrapped Neria's hair around her palm and then pulled, eyes glittering with insanity. No. There was something else there. Something far larger than the skin holding it. "More than you know depends on it, child." When she let go, Neria backstepped far too abruptly to hide that she was frightened.

 _'She knows,_ ' Desire whispered, voice smaller than Neria had ever heard. _'Do not provoke her. She is old, lovely. She is old and powerful.'_

Flemeth wasn't human. Whatever she was, she couldn't be human, Neria decided.

 _'Yes.'_

 _'Do you know what she is?'_

Desire hesitated. Rather than answer, she fled into the Fade.

Well.

 _'That is not encouraging.'_

There was no answer, because there was no demon riding on her back. She felt strange. Too light. Too hot. She wanted to leave, preferably without Morrigan. But she didn't protest when Flemeth ordered her daughter to lead them out. Desire had said that they wouldn't make it out of the forest alive if they were there after dark. The sun was nearly touching the horizon. They didn't have much time.

 _'Is Desire actually gone? Did Flemeth do that?'_

If so, Flemeth was a lot more powerful than anything the Chantry had to offer.

She should be happy. Desire was dangerous, and cruel, and waiting for her to agree to a deal. But she felt more unsettled by all the things she didn't know than relieved at a possible reprieve. Why had Flemeth been so interested in her? She shouldn't have known. How could she have sensed Desire? And... If she'd been about to banish Desire, why would she warn Neria not to make any deals?

As soon as they were out of Flemeth's sight with the treaties, Jory leaned in and whispered. "What did she say to you?"

 _'Nothing useful.'_

She looked ahead. All she could see of Morrigan was her back, but Neria had the bone-deep certainty that the other witch could hear them.

Neria licked her lips. "Lay off." Her rejoinder was weaker than she would have liked. Daveth immediately honed in on that, slowing his pace to close in on her other side.

"It sure looked like something," Daveth mused. "She hardly had eyes for the rest of us." His eyes cut over to weigh her reaction. She tried not to give one.

"Is it that you're a mage?" Jory asked abruptly.

She really wished it had been something as innocuous as favoring a fellow mage. But no. Flemeth was no mage.

Instead of answering, she pushed her way past them to the front of the group, nearly level with Morrigan. No one would want to talk near her.

Alistair's rebuke was late and underwhelming. "Everyone lay off. I'm sure we're all out of sorts." He put a hand to her shoulder as he passed to retake point, apparently unwilling to expose his recruits to Morrigan alone. It was probably meant as a reassuring gesture, but Neria gave his back a repulsed look.

Desire returned in a cooling wave when they were nearly back to camp.

 _'You again.'_ Neria scowled. _'I was starting to think you were gone for good.'_

Desire was silent, which was fine. There was enough going on to keep Neria occupied. Alistair passed the vials of blood off to a runner and led the recruits to a fire set up in one of the abandoned structures overlooking camp. The view of people going about their business and beginning to settle down for the night was interesting enough.

Alistair coughed, checking the skyline. "Well, we have some time until things are ready." He shifted his weight around when everyone looked at him. "Feel free to take care of any errands you have. You should wrap up any unfinished business. You... won't have time tomorrow. Be back here in an hour."

Daveth all but leapt off the walls, en route for the camp outfitters with his loot. Jory mumbled something about placing an order for a repair with the blacksmith. So Neria and Alistair were left standing alone.

Alistair eyed her warily. "Don't you have somewhere to be? Errands to run, things like that?" He pitched his voice cheerfully, clearly trying to shake off his odd mood. "You know a lot of the mages, I would think. Surely there's someone you'd like to get a good luck kiss from before tomorrow's big battle." He grinned winningly. "Come now, wouldn't it be sad to leave any regrets?"

Neria actually snorted, an undignified sound. She immediately regretted it. Alistair would be insufferable if he thought he was funny.

He was already grinning at her. The ass.

She mustered up her haughtiest tone, tossing her hair. "I don't have regrets."

It was his turn to snort, but at least he left it at that.

In not too long a time, Duncan came. Her peers returned. Duncan uncovered the enormous chalice he had brought, letting the heat and stench of a foul black potion into the air.

What came after that was better forgotten.

* * *

She thought the Joining was a nightmare when she first woke up. It felt like a dream. She'd never seen a man die before. How could it be real? It couldn't be real.

-Daveth stumbled, wrapping his arms around his middle. One rasping breath and then bubbling blood-

Neria jerked to wrap her arms around her knees.

 _'And they just watched Alistair and Duncan just watched they knew this could happen they knew this would happen and they just watched him die.'_

Her breath was coming fast and her head was light. She was gripping her legs tightly. Too tightly. It hurt. She was strong enough to do that?

' _If I had known that they intended to feed you darkspawn blood, we would have run_ ,' Desire promised. _'But you have survived, and it has made you stronger.'_

Daveth had choked on that power. If Jory had actually drank it, would he have fallen too?

She didn't know how long she spent pressing her face into the dirty fabric at her knees. Perhaps she wavered in and out of consciousness. The next coherent thought she registered was … practical.

 _'I'm glad I didn't tell Duncan I wanted out.'_

Yes. Jory had, and he was dead, because Duncan had run him through with his sword. His loss was her gain in information. She knew now. She was safe. She was safe. Neria breathed in carefully. She unfolded her body. It hurt. That kept her grounded.

She had to keep moving. She had to get up.

She fingercombed her hair. She did not think of Jory. She hadn't even liked him. She put it in a braid. She did not think of Daveth. She struggled to fasten the armor that had been placed by her side. Desire directed her through the process, thinking so that Neria didn't have to. She hadn't collected the armor. Alistair must have brought it for her. Alistair. She'd trusted him. She wished she didn't remember how he hadn't moved to save Jory from Duncan. She wished she still thought that he would defend her if she needed it.

 _'It's just us.'_

Desire sounded forlorn about that. Which didn't make sense.

Maker, she was projecting her feelings onto the voice in her head.

That was sad, wasn't it? Neria swallowed and stepped out into the light. Duncan was waiting. She had to meet him before he went to the king's tent.

She was as quiet as he had requested the day before. King Cailan gave her an odd look at her solemnity, but he didn't comment.

Teryn Loghain was another hard man. He seemed every bit as dangerous as she now knew Duncan to be. Neria listened to what he said. She did not let Duncan out of her peripheral.

Loghain was angry- The Couslands and Howes had yet to show. The troops led by Arl Eamon had arrived in fewer numbers than he had expected. There had been complaint of misbehavior from some of the sellswords. Duncan was unaffected.

Histories of warfare had never been a particular interest of Neria's, but his plan seemed sound. The darkspawn would be drawn into a trap, lured into a funnel by the king and his men. The mages and archers would be above, raining down punishment on the darkspawn from either side. A third of the army would be waiting to come from behind the darkspawn when they were lured in and beset from all sides, destroying their line.

"Come now, you don't need to stand by me," King Cailan scoffed. "You should lead the charge, not Ser Cauthrien. You deserve it."

Teryn Loghain's lips somehow thinned further. "I'm afraid that Anora would never forgive me if I left you to fight alone."

"Alone?" King Cailan laughed at that. "I'll be fighting side by side with Ferelden's own Grey Wardens. What could be safer?" He paused. "Excepting, of course, that you had allowed the other Grey Wardens in." At that, Duncan adjusted his posture, lifting his head higher.

"Foreigners should not be defending Ferelden." Judging by his dark look, Loghain included Duncan in that assessment.

Neria found herself half-hoping that he would have Duncan deported. She would sleep easier.

Teryn Loghain was looking at her while Duncan said something. She straightened, wiping her expression into polite blankness. He snorted like a wan, ugly horse.

"None of us will see any glory if you have your way." The king sighed, hands at his hips. He actually shook his head. "Where is the fun in that?"

"Glory, no. But we will live to see morning," the teryn rejected flatly. "Perhaps you can settle for that."

Neria didn't smile. She didn't. Loghain was looking again.

"Is it wise to have all the Grey Wardens in one place?"

Duncan and the king both gave the Teryn odd looks for that. The question itself wasn't strange. But given that he'd been all but pretending that there would be no Grey Wardens mussing up his planned battle, the question did prick Neria's notice as well.

"I suppose it could present problems," Duncan acknowledged carefully. "I had not planned on splitting our ranks. We number only thirty."

"Do you." Teryn Loghain was definitely looking at her. "Why not send one of your new recruits with Ser Cauthrien? I'm certain that the vaunted ability of Grey Wardens to sense darkspawn could only be a help." Somehow, the king didn't seem to notice his scathing tone.

One of the new recruits. Neria swallowed a hysterical giggle. Right. The joining was a secret. Of course Duncan hadn't told anyone that the other recruits were dead. Or that new recruits couldn't sense darkspawn anyway. Grey Wardens really were tight-lipped.

King Cailan seized the idea, eyes glittering. "Of course! That's brilliant, Loghain. The wardens should be spread out for maximum effect."

It wouldn't be effective at all. She kept her mouth shut. She knew what happened to wardens who risked the order's secrecy.

"I really must protest, sire." Duncan didn't sound nervous for a man who might have to admit that he had somehow misplaced two young men last night and had their gear sold.

"Come now, share a little. Just one warden." King Cailan winked at Neria. "You'll do it, won't you? I'm sure you'll have a lovely time with Ser Cauthrien. She's a warrior worth her name. It's perfect! Our reinforcements will be led by two beautiful women in the nick of time. The songs write themselves."

Neria looked at Duncan for answers. He inclined his head slightly, out of the king's sight. She swallowed. "I would be honored to go where my king commands."

The darkspawn approached far too quickly for Neria's comfort. Before noon she was standing with Ser Cauthrien, trying not to fuss with her armor. It was heavier than robes, and made of coarser fabric. It felt heavy on her back.

 _'No, that's fear you feel,'_ Desire diagnosed. ' _How are we going to leave?'_

That was an excellent question. She was leading the charge with Ser Cauthrien. It would be hard to stealthily fall to the rear of the group.

The Joining had been blood magic. Just like the Chantry's phylacteries. What if they could track her down?

Neria felt sick. She didn't hear the rustling and whispering of hundreds of soldiers over the blood pounding in her head.

Duncan would never let her go. The Grey Wardens wouldn't let her go.

"Are you ready, warden?" Ser Cauthrien's stare was nearly as hard as Loghain's. She was well-built, even for a human.

Neria choked down hysteria and managed to only bark one rough laugh. The older woman's full attention was uncomfortable. "I suppose I'm as ready as I'll be. I'm not sure I'll be much use in melee."

Ser Cauthrien hummed, taking that in. "I wouldn't expect a mage to be. Your job will be to help cut their numbers and control the flow of battle."

She stilled, listening carefully. This was the most practical advice anyone had given her. "I can do mass damage while they're distant," Neria offered. "Many of them survive the group spells, but they are weakened and easy for a warrior to take down."

"Work on that," Ser Cauthrien acknowledged. Her tone was practical, not warm. "When you're more experienced, you'll be able to leave holes in their offensive by cutting them down en masse. Other than that, keep an eye out. Try to keep any one area from being overwhelmed and give the soldiers time and opportunity to cut down the darkspawn. Throwing the enemy to the ground or freezing them, or otherwise disorienting them are all solid tactics."

"Right." Neria inhaled slowly. "I can do that."

 _'You'll help, won't you?'_

Desire wordlessly answered, flooding her body with the sharp bite of winter magic.

Neria shook it off, pushing the fire back into her bones. ' _Not now. But thank you.'_

"With any luck you'll survive to improve," Ser Cauthrien said curtly. "I will do what I can to keep you alive."

"I'm glad to be posted with you," Neria said instead of thank-you, because she'd just sound churlish after that.

That startled the first bit of emotion she'd seen out of Ser Cauthrien. "I- Well. I'm glad to hear that." She gave Neria an uncomfortable look, edging away.

Neria sighed. She had a hopeful thought.

"The place where Duncan and the others are fighting... That's the most dangerous part, isn't it?"

Ser Cauthrien sighed. "Yes." The acknowledgment left a bitter look on her face.

 _'With any luck, Duncan will die. Alistair didn't stand up to him, but I can't see him having the initiative to hunt me down on his own.'_

 _'There are more wardens where they came from.'_

However responsible and briskly attentive Ser Cauthrien was, it was apparent that she did not trust Neria. When the first clangs and screams rang out in the distance, she cast a thoroughly hostile look at Neria. Perhaps she thought Neria would run. Loghain was famously perceptive and clever. Perhaps he'd sussed her out as a coward and had her posted with Ser Cauthrien so that she could be watched.

Desire snickered. _'I doubt you are so important as that.'_

Ser Cauthrien went back to watching the signal tower, waiting for the cue to charge. As much as the human visibly ached to join the battle, she wouldn't move until it was clear that the darkspawn were penned in.

Offended but corrected, Neria bared her teeth at the distant confrontation. Listening to men and monsters dying was making her anxious and hyper alert to the sounds around her. She didn't want to fight. But if she had to, she'd rather get started.

For whatever reason, Desire decided a distraction was in order. ' _Whatever Loghain thought to gain with this, it was a blow against Duncan_ ,' Desire proposed.

And... that made some sense, judging by the hostility she had noticed and the timing of the suggestion. It was hard to see how depriving Duncan of one junior warden would really matter.

Oh. Yes, it really was hard to see. That was it.

 _'I agree,_ ' Desire hummed.

Loghain knew that Duncan had made a special trip to recruit one last Warden at a time when he could have been doing other important things. Loghain must believed that Duncan's reasoning for doing so was malicious and thought to thwart it by denying him the recruit he'd gone so far out of his way for.

The thought was cheering. She liked spiting Duncan.

 _'Did he really seem as though he had been thwarted_?' Desire asked lightly.

Neria scowled. The answer was no, of course.

 _'Yes_ ,' Desire agreed again. She felt almost smug.

Duncan hadn't really fought her removal from his side. It was true. If he'd cared, he would have put his foot down or maneuvered the conversation away. Why had he let Loghain reassign one of his few subordinates?

Finally, Desire had no answers. She remained sullenly silent.

But she was right. The only way to know why Duncan hadn't cared was to know why it had been so crucial that he acquire one more recruit at the absolute last moment. It hadn't been about bolstering numbers. One recruit (or even three, assuming the others had survived the Joining) was a pitiful addition. He would have been recruiting by the dozens if that had been his task.

 _'He wanted me for something specific_.' Neria bit her lip. ' _And with my luck, I'll only find out when it's too late.'_

"Straighten up, you look like a mabari," Ser Cauthrien interrupted.

What?

Oh.

Neria let go of her upper lip. She refused to be embarrassed, even though the human was faintly smiling for several seconds.

They waited. And they waited. Neria bit the inside of her cheek and chewed on something squishy, sucking on the resulting blood. They waited.

"Something is wrong," Ser Cauthrien said eventually, sounding pained. "The signal should have been lit. It has been such a long time."

She'd have to make a decision. Neria didn't envy her.

 _'I think you're right.'_

"I think you're right." She was surprised to hear herself agreeing with Ser Cauthrien. Out loud? She'd said that out loud?

Yes, she had. Desire had said it so softly and then Neria had just... Had Desire done that on purpose?

The knight clenched her teeth. "Perhaps something has gone wrong at the tower," Ser Cauthrien speculated. She kept her tone low enough that the men waiting behind them couldn't hear it. Neria supposed it probably wasn't good for the smallfolk to realize that their leaders had doubts before a battle.

Well. Their only two options were wait or go. If they went prematurely, the battle could be lost, but the darkspawn should still be easy to slaughter with their backs to the surprise additions. If they waited, the losses with the king's forces would only get worse.

"I think that we need to go," Neria said, more in the tactical sense than that, 'I am burning to fight and probably die' sense.

However, she received a startled look from Ser Cauthrien that implied her comment had been interpreted as more than a situational analysis. Her reasoning was plain enough. The surprised, evaluating expression didn't make much sense in that context.

The human sucked in a deep breath. She looked over her troops. She led the march forward.

What happened after that was deeply unpleasant. When they entered the funnel, it was clear that something had gone very wrong upon the battlements. There were pockets of fighting overhead, including magefire spewing to the left. To the right, where the tower of Ishal was situated, the area was still.

Neria picked up her pace. The darkspawn had taken some of the upper levels. That meant that the mages and arches were being slaughtered in melee instead of picking off large swathes of the hordes below.

At least the main group of darkspawn was exactly where they were supposed to be. The hour that followed was a blur. She neatly parceled out death as suggested. Fire detonations in the distance, sprays of ice when an enemy line charged, and individual bolts of lightning when a particularly threatening darkspawn nearly broke their line. Ser Cauthrien was as good as her word, keeping the worst of the numbers off Neria's back.

Then there were no large areas devoid of soldiers where she could safely set rings of fire. After that, it became difficult to cast ice without friendly fire. It took some time, panting and spinning, for Neria to accept that there were no darkspawn in sight for her to kill.

She came back to herself in pieces, staring blankly over the field. Most of it was unnavigable, crowded by inconvenient piles of corpses.

Ser Cauthrien was gone? Oh. When she asked, a soldier pointed out a direction. Neria tiredly followed for lack of anything else to do. She heard Ser Cauthrien's voice before she saw the human. She froze in trepidation.

She'd not heard Ser Cauthrien make sounds like that before. The woman was saying something over and over. No. She was saying, no.

People were talking loudly nearby, giving orders. Oh. The king. That was the king's voice.

"Howe's men are fresh, send them-"

Neria approached as quietly as she could. She tried not to wince. Ser Cauthrien had found the teryn's body. He was laid out in a respectful pose, but the arms crossed over his body couldn't hide the enormous dent in his armor or the blood drying against his gorget. He seemed much smaller in death.

"cleared out, set up a perimeter and recall-"

She thought she knew what had done that. There was a thing laying nearby. A large thing. It had to be some kind of darkspawn, but she hadn't seen any living monster like that. She swallowed, noting the sword that hung abandoned, jutting out of the place where two horns met behind its head.

 _'That sword is familiar.'_

When Neria couldn't place it in her memory, she moved back to paying attention to what was being said- at the right time, apparently. The voice came from behind her, quietened now that he wasn't giving orders.

"He saved me." King Cailan sounded small and bewildered. The knights he had been speaking to were leaving on some task or another, clanking briskly into the distance.

Ser Cauthrien raised her head enough to give the king a vicious look. She was thinking very loudly that the trade had not been worthwhile.

The man recoiled, stumbling back. That was when Neria noticed that he, too, was bloodied. Pale. The left side of his golden hair was plastered to his neck and skull with blood and sweat.

 _'We took too long_ ,' Neria knew. ' _We knew something was wrong. If we'd moved sooner, lives would have been saved._ '

It turned out that death was ugly. She didn't like it very much. Neria wrapped her arms around her waist and waited for someone to tell her what to do.

 _'If you hadn't gone and gotten yourself seen by the king of Ferelden, we could have left,'_ Desire said mournfully.

Neria startled, a hand flying to her throat. Then she blinked when she understood the words.

 _'You could have told me that earlier.'_

Desire hissed, slow and angry, like air escaping bellows.

 _'What the hell is that about?'_ Neria demanded, suddenly furious. ' _The fuck is your problem? You're not in any danger. You don't have a monster in your head._ '

There was no response.

She steamed with no outlet, impotently on the verge of frustrated tears. No matter how angry she was, she was not foolish enough to attempt to take it out on anyone while the king of Ferelden stood there.

And then the king of Ferelden fell. There was a ruckus as the nearby soldiers rushed to help but then hovered, not daring to touch him.

"I'm fine!" He struggled to get his legs underneath his body. "Just- give me a moment."

 _'The ground is filthy,_ ' Neria thought, utterly disgusted. He shouldn't be sitting on it. Did these people want him to die?

Cailan had managed to get up on one knee, the other leg still splayed out. No one had dared touch him. Was it a social status thing? Ser Cauthrien, who probably had the rank, wasn't looking.

He was kneeling in a pool of blood leaking out of a hurlock's open mouth.

 _'Are they really going to let him flail there instead of getting him off the field where he can stop embarrassing himself?'_

"Maker's sake." Disgusted, Neria crossed this distance and bent at his side. The king had time to give her an incredulous look while she was slinging his arm over her shoulder. Then she stood haltingly, straining to lift his enormous shem ass.

He was stuttering something apologetic.

"You're heavy," she accused, gritting her teeth. "Use your legs. Where are we going?" She gave a nasty glare to the gathered shems as she moved. It was painfully slow going and the curves of his armor began to leave aching bruises against her shoulder and side.

King Cailan let out a rueful breath, jerking against her side. "I think," he said in a low tone, "that this is not my finest moment."

She didn't know if he meant right at this moment specifically where he was leaning against an elvish mage, or the moment where they were standing among the pitiful survivors of an enormous battle, surrounded by piles of men who might not have been dead if he'd forced Loghain to allow in foreign recruits. It didn't seem politic to ask. So instead, she just agreed. "You've probably had better days."

At her bland delivery, Cailan wheezed painfully. "Ah, don't." He gasped. "Don't make me laugh right now. Hurts."

 _'Someone thinks you're funny?'_

Neria would have protested the jibe, but Desire was right. Neria had never been accused of a good sense of humor.

"What happened?" she asked instead to keep her mind off the slog back to camp. They weren't that far away, truthfully. The Darkspawn had pushed the fighting nearly back to the last ditch when the reinforcements had come in.

The king took a moment to answer, preoccupied with a particularly challenging bit of ground. "Well, ah." He wheezed. "About as many as we expected came in at the main force. Unfortunately, darkspawn are tunnelers. I don't know why we didn't think of that." His pitch raised, strained with pain. "Our aid from above stopped early. I believe the darkspawn took the Tower of Ishal." His eyes cut to her.

"Makes sense," Neria agreed. "Ser Cauthrien thought it was taking too long and decided to charge without the signal."

"I'm glad." Cailan said. He swallowed loudly. "In any case. Our line held up until nearly the end. I'm afraid that most of the grey wardens had fallen by that point. An ogre- that's the big one, you know. I didn't see it." His breath faltered. He swallowed. He worked his mouth a few times. "I, ah. Loghain saw it. And. Maker." He looked up, blinking rapidly.

Neria looked ahead and did not acknowledge that a full grown man was crying on her shoulder. His weight and the pinch of his armor was becoming incredibly painful. She was breathing hard from the effort of supporting half an armored shem.

She was a bit surprised when he started talking about unprompted.

"After Loghain fell, Duncan killed it. His sword got stuck." Cailan trailed off. He didn't seem to be capable of filling the rest of the situation.

Neria thought that she understood. How long would a man have lasted in that press of bodies while trying to retrieve his weapon?

 _'I don't feel as pleased as I thought I would.'_

Duncan was gone. Dead. He'd never threaten her. She might be able to leave the Grey Wardens now. She hadn't seen Alistair either. Perhaps he was dead too and she'd have a clean break from every warden who knew her face.

"What happened to the Grey Warden Alistair?"

Cailan stopped walking. The halt in momentum nearly sent her to the ground and dragged him down on top of her.

"I am so sorry!" The king was even paler than before, dark rings under his eyes. "I felt weak. That's all. Ah. Alistair. You asked about the Grey Warden Alistair. Right."

 _'Well. There's something special about Alistair, apparently.'_

Neria could feel the withering condescension in the expression she leveled at the human. It was enough to make her forget that the man she was talking to was in fact a powerful ruler, not some idiot from the tower. So she really couldn't be blamed for the bite in her tone when she asked, "Is this how you act nonchalant?"

Cailan actually groaned. "Maker, save me from my stupidity. I'm not at my best right now. Alistair should be fine. I think he's taking care of Duncan's body. I sent the other Grey Warden with my personal guards to help secure the Tower of Ishal."

"Other?" Neria asked sharply, steering him towards his tent. The banners were still flying. "There's only two left?"

"Excepting your good self, yes, that's all I know of." Cailan sounded thoroughly miserable. "This wasn't what I expected at all."

"Apprentice Surana!" The unexpected voice cut through the air. "Are you interrogating that poor man instead of taking him to healing?"

Neria rolled her eyes, but she felt something inside her ease at the comforting familiarity of that weary scolding. "Hello, Wynne. I don't ask that many questions."

The older mage stopped cold in her tracks once she'd had a good look. "Oh, my. That's-"

"Please don't make a fuss," Cailan interrupted. "I'd really just like to lie down. I'm not a high priority."

Wynne moved to interrupt, but closed her mouth when the king raised a hand.

"I understand that I will have to be looked at by a healer," he clarified. "However, my injuries are not life threatening, and indeed would respond to non magical treatment. There are many who require your help more than I do."

"I..." Wynne's eyes darted over his form, narrowing in on the blood drying against his neck. "If you are quite certain. Someone will be with you within the hour, your majesty."

"Someone to help wash wounds first would be appreciated," Cailan allowed. "I'm not terrible at that myself, but at the moment..."

"Indeed not," Wynne agreed sharply. "I will send someone with hot water shortly. Come now, lay down." She insinuated herself on Cailan's other side and helped him into his tent. She was much closer to his height, so Neria let go with relief and pulled down the sheets so that Cailan could lay down.

It was rather satisfying to see that even fully grown kings shrank away and nodded obediently when Wynne used that tone.

Then Wynne turned on her.

"Neria, do you remember your training in healing?"

Neria hunched her back. "Yes," she admitted grudgingly. Healing wasn't her favorite. Never had been. The spells always seemed to fight her, and bleeding bodies were so ugly. She didn't like touching them.

"You will examine his Majesty first, then," Wynne decided. "Once you are done, you may join us out here." She pushed hair back. "We're out of cots for the injured, and space." Suddenly, the enchanter seemed terribly old and tired.

"You may use any tents you need," Cailan assured. "No matter who they belong to. If there are any complaints, direct them to me."

"That is quite kind of you, Your Majesty." Wynne bowed her head as she left, pressing a hand to her chest.

"Right." Neria sighed, rubbing at her sore shoulder. The king cut a rather pitiful sight laying down. "Is it just your head, then?"

"What?" Cailan touched his head. "Oh. Yes, and my left leg. I don't think there's any bleeding, but there's pain and difficulty balancing on it."

"Oh, good," Neria mumbled. "I was worried we'd have to take off your armor."

Cailan hesitated. "I'm not a healer, but shouldn't you anyway?"

Ugh. "But there are so many buckles," Neria pointed out distastefully.

He laughed again. Then he winced, raising an arm to his chest. "Perhaps a look at my ribs wouldn't be amiss as well."

Ugh.

It didn't take too long to fix up Cailan, despite her rather amateur abilities. He was correct- he wasn't too badly off. There was ugly, heavy bruising to the bone on his shin, and that ankle might have been fractured. But it wasn't properly broken, and that was good. The wound on his head was shallow and wide, from an altercation that had torn his helmet off.

"Cailan!" An older man burst into the tent, dressed down in fine clothes instead of armor. There was still blood in his grey hair.

Cailan struggled to sit up, face brightening. "Uncle! I'm so glad to see you well."

Neria eyed the spectacle for a moment, then excused herself. Her work was done here.

The king was lucky, more or less. When she obediently settled in to help with the camp healers, it became clear that many of the survivors were not. Neria's healing abilities were suitable for taking care of minor to mid-range problems. That was frustrating, because the healers were attempting to prioritize more serious injuries to save as many lives as possible. She knew her limits, so she did what she could. More than once, someone tried to steer her to a patient on the verge of death and she had to admit that she wasn't capable of helping. It wouldn't do any good for her to wring her hands over the dying when there were soldiers in pain who she could get back on their feet.

The night ached on. The cries were softening as the dying on the cots became the dead. They were removed as soon as someone had noticed, to make room for other patients, but there were several corpses waiting in the tent Neria worked in when a runner poked her head in.

"Warden?"

Neria blinked tiredly. Her? Me?

The girl was looking right at her. Must be.

"Yes?"

"Begging pardon, ser, but your friend is looking for you." The little elven girl squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, swaying on her feet.

Neria wasn't feeling much better herself. She blinked down tears. She wasn't sad. Her head just hurt. "Alright. I'll go see." She cast one last look over her charges. Most of them would live. She left.

She didn't know who she was expecting. Alistair, probably. Wynne would have gone directly to her. But-

"What are you doing here?"

Morrigan turned away from the fire at what had been the Warden's camp, already frowning. "Tis a rude way to address someone who has come to offer you help."

Neria didn't really care.

"Apologies." She paused. "Help?"

Morrigan set her jaw. "Yes," she started uncertainly. "My mother- that is, I am worried by what has transpired. I thought that the remaining wardens would need all the help they could get, no? Certainly the darkspawn are not defeated for good."

That was- interesting? Morrigan was certainly, _obviously_ powerful. She didn't know where she would go or what she would do when they left Ostagar, but that she would not go back to the Tower. It might be good to have a sworn companion.

But Morrigan was dangerous. Neria didn't know or trust her. But worse, if this was Flemeth's idea, would it really be wise to turn it down?

 _'Send her back to her terrifying mother,_ ' Desire hissed.

Good point, except that would definitely piss Flemeth off. She tabled the idea and thought to look for a gentle excuse to avoid a decision.

"I don't have any authority to accept new recruits," Neria stalled. "I'm the newest member."

"As well as the second most senior," Morrigan corrected. Her normal hauteur was back in place. "And I have no interest in making my case to the suspicious, dim-witted one."

Good point, but- "There's one more somewhere," Neria said. "I haven't seen them, but the king said-"

"Dead," Morrigan interrupted. She sounded bored. "So sad. I weep. I'll do my best to replace Ser Stranger in your heart."

Neria had two sudden, ugly suspicions. The first was that there was a reason Morrigan knew this man was dead, and it wasn't that she'd wept over his corpse. The second suspicion-

"There's no way I'm getting rid of you, is there?" she asked tiredly.

Morrigan bared her teeth.

 _'This isn't over. And now the Wardens are all dead. Maybe it is better to have someone at my back. I don't trust her, but I don't distrust her the way I do Alistair.'_

Neria eyed the older witch. "You're going to have to put on Grey Warden armor," she warned. "And honestly, that'll be good enough for me. You wear the team uniform and you kill darkspawn if we need to. Someone else can initiate you later if they give a damn."

"I will not." Morrigan drew back, offended. "These robes-"

"Non negotiable," Neria snapped. "You stick out. Daveth instantly recognized you as an apostate. I'm not interested in having the Chantry bother me. If your clothes are that important to you, you can wear them at your mother's hovel."

Morrigan held her eyes for a long moment. Then she scoffed. "Fine. I care not. Bring me your rags."

Good. That was settled. Except that Neria didn't actually know where any Grey Warden equipment was. Alistair might know, but it might be better that Morrigan was a done deal before she told him anything.

Neria shifted her weight. "So... Do you know where Ser Stranger's body is?"


End file.
